I knew my husband and I were officially old when I heard myself saying, “Honey, do I have a neck hump?”
And he said, “Hang on. I have to put on my glasses.”
Because he couldn’t see my neck hump WITHOUT HIS GLASSES. What the what?
Supposedly, age is just a number. Sort of.
Another sign that you’ve reached a questionable age of advanced decrepitude: When you’re sitting around with your peer group and the conversation goes a little something like this.
“Look at my fungus toe.”
The looking commenced. The conversation continued.
“That’s nothing. Look at my fungus toe.” Open toed sandals were kicked off, willy-nilly, and fungus toes were displayed with abandon.
“So what’s everyone doing about their fungus toes?”
My brain shut off at that point because my neck hump was giving me a fit.
Neck hump comes from looking down . . . for . . . every day of a long and fruitful life. Think about it. Try to sweep your floor, vacuum that rug, wash those dishes, fold those clothes, change those diapers, mop up that puppy tinkle, paint those baseboards, dispose of that dead (roach, fly, beetle, lizard) corpse WITHOUT LOOKING DOWN.
Go ahead, try it. I’ll hold your coat while I practice good posture.
And when you’ve spent fifty to sixty years checking those memos from the boss or typing up notes from 6,000 pointless meetings you’ve had to attend, the hump is the least of your worries.
Let’s not even talk about Menopause “apron.”
Recently, a gentleman in our church was asked to help oversee the activities of our young men’s program. The gentleman in question was . . . well . . . not in the generation identified with one of those letters (Gen Z, X, Omega.)
“Do you think he can keep up with those young men?” Concern was expressed.
Are you kidding? Have you seen the neck, gut humps on some of those Gen X, texting maniacs? According to my doctor, even the young and newly hatched are evolving bone hooks on their spine bones from excessive head forward, down looking, screen scrolling. By the time they are my age they’ll look like those vultures in that Disney “Jungle Book” cartoon.
Sheesh. My neck trouble didn’t show up until I’d spent sixty-five years grinding my teeth and enduring a lifetime of mocking head shaking from the young and super keen.
All I know is this. Neck hump comes for everyone in the end, and the pelvis is the one bone in the body that is gender specific. Getting older means you’ve learned stuff, a lot of stuff. Some of it is helpful. Some of it helps you win at trivia games. And some of it annoys the young and newly hatched.
“Stand up straight or you’re going to become a hunch back, and put your shoes on before you get toe fungus.”
Linda (Down But Not Out) Zern
